An Unacknowledged Weakness
by janeausten24
Summary: Robin knew, deep in her bones, that with this day-with this wedding-she was cementing her future, and sealing her fate. But what else was there for her, if the lifelong passion she had worked so hard towards was now forever out of her grasp? My interpretation of the events surrounding the ending of Career of Evil, and what happens after the wedding.
1. Chapter 1: Who Always Will

"There comes a point in your life when you realize who really matters, who never did, and who always will."-Anonymous

Robin knew from the moment she awoke that she had made a terrible mistake.

It had been difficult to truly comprehend her situation over the past week-difficult to sift through the waves of shock and pain that had threatened to overwhelm her. It was as if she had become an automaton, mechanically carrying out her daily routine, allowing herself to be shepherded through the preparations for the wedding with neither interest nor protest. The pain had been with her every day, but it had paralyzed her-enveloped her in a miasma of numbness and silence, entrapping all thought in a listless haze. Matthew and her mother had attempted, in vain, to penetrate that stillness-to brace her, to encourage her to look forward to the new beginning ahead. But nothing they had said had mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

But last night, something had torn through the mist, forcibly shaking her out of the numb reverie that had threatened to dissolve her will completely. She had dreamt of Strike.

Robin had been sitting at her desk in the office on Denmark street. A typed report had sat on the desk before her, the words blurred and unreadable. Her computer monitor has been dark, the office lights dimmed. No light shone through the windows looking out onto the busy London street. She was alone.

Robin had known in the dream that something was wrong, that something dreadful had happened. She had been gripped with anticipation and fear, staring fixedly at the front door, every moment desperately waiting to hear the familiar asymmetric thump on the stairs, or to see the well-known shadow rise beyond the doorway.

None came.

The dream Robin had known, with a sudden flash of dread, what must have happened. It must have been the killer-he must have found Strike. Even now, he could be cornered in an alleyway, threatened with knives. And she was powerless to do anything.

Robin had gotten up from her chair and run from the office. Instinctively, she had directed herself towards the University hospital-the very same hospital she had been driven to when she had been stabbed. Her strides carried her over the expanse of London, noiseless and dreamlike, impossibly long, the surroundings blurring around her. And suddenly, she was in the hallway of Casualty, looking around desperately for Strike.

She had seen him in an instant, and her insides had shriveled within her at the sight. His face had been beaten to a bruised pulp, contorted in pain, almost unrecognizable. His sheets had been soaked with sweat and blood. His right leg still bore the prosthesis, which was lying crookedly away from him at the foot of his bed. As Robin's gaze had drifted towards his left leg-the leg she had always known to be whole-she had found only a stump, cut cleanly away below the knee.

"Robin."

His face had changed once he had seen her. The pain began to clear away from his face, his eyes softening as he looked up at her.

"I knew you'd come, Robin." He had said slowly. "I always knew you would."

Robin's heart had leapt within her. The desolation and terror she had felt as she had raced towards him was melting away, replaced with an on overwhelming relief. She had knelt by his bedside and taken his hand in both of hers.

"You're a nice person." He had said. "You know that."

Robin could not speak. She could only look at him.

But as she watched, beaming, full of an emotion she couldn't completely understand, his face had changed. It had become withdrawn, confused. He slipped his hand slowly out of her grasp, back towards himself.

"But you hurt me, Robin."

As quickly as her happiness had come, it had disappeared, replaced by a low hum of bounding panic as Strike's eyebrows furrowed, his frown deepening.

"Cormoran, I-"

"Why did you hurt me?"

"I didn't mean-" Robin had choked on the words, fighting not to let the tears fall. "I never would have-I had to-I didn't mean-"

"I wasn't angry about what you did." He had said. He had looked thoughtful, unsmiling. "It was because you left. You were leaving."

Robin desperately wanted to protest, to beg him to understand-that she never would leave, that all she had ever wanted in her life was to stay, to stay with the job, to stay with him-but the words stuck in her throat.

Strike had looked her full in the face now.

"I was standing there." He had said. "I was standing there, right in front of you."

And as her world was collapsing in around her, nurses had appeared from behind her, taking her by the arms, dragging her out of the room. She fought against them, but the curtains were closing before her, and Strike was going, going, gone-

Robin had been torn out of her sleep, drenched in a cold sweat, gasping for air. Matthew had stirred in his sleep beside her, but he had not awoken. She had wiped the sweat from her forehead, shaking her head repeatedly, trying to clear it of the suffocating panic which had overwhelmed her.

But she couldn't shake it away-she couldn't rid herself of that all-consuming dread. Because now, as she lay on her bed on the day of her wedding, her mind still full of the face of the man she had left behind, the reality of her situation cascaded upon her, its full weight making itself felt for the first time. She saw, as clearly as if the truth was a beacon of light illuminating the path before her,where her life was meant to lead. Towards her lifelong passion, secretly cherished for so long, and constantly endeavoured towards, despite the circumstances and obstacles that threatened to tear it from her. To her vocation-and to Strike.

But Strike was gone. He had wrenched himself out of her life and had walked away, never once looking back. He had cast aside everything they had been through together-the countless experiences, the mutual pursuit and shared pain that had bound them more closely together than Robin would have ever thought possible-and he had gone. And Robin was forced to watch her life break apart once more. She had only realized the foundation on which she had built her every hope when it had been snatched from beneath her, leaving everything to collapse into rubble in its wake.

And each day was carrying her further and further away from the life she longed for. She had allowed herself to be led away from Strike, her work, away from everything she held dear-and she knew, deep in her bones, that with this day-with this wedding-she was cementing her future, and sealing her fate.

But even as she faced the fact squarely in the face, Robin felt overwhelmed by a sense of profound powerlessness. What could she do, in the face of such opposition? How could she struggle against the inexorable winds that had swept her here-against the expectations of her family, her obligation to Matthew, the muscular resistance of the congregation that would be waiting, expectant and smiling, in the church of her childhood?

And after all, what was there to struggle against, when the life she had wanted and worked for so fiercely did not want her?

Strike had forsaken her-and today, she was forsaking herself.


	2. Chapter 2: What Dies Within Us

_"_ _Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."_ -Norman Cousins.

"Robin? Robin, are you nearly finished?"

Robin's arms clenched reflexively at the sharp rap at the door. Linda's voice was clearly audible over the sounds of bustling chaos downstairs, the back-and-forth calls of her family hastening to make the last-minute preparations for the ceremony. Robin sat on her bedcovers, listening to it all in silence. Every bit of noise was a needle at her side, jolting her into a progressively heightening level of hyper-awareness.

"Robin? Can you hear me?"

Robin cleared her throat and forced herself to speak, channeling her resolve into stabilizing her fragile voice, so as not to betray the unbearable quavering of her heart.

"Yes, mum." She managed. "I'm finished."

"All right." Linda paused. "Well, go on then, let's see."

Robin stood up slowly. Her reflection stood before her, as tall and regal as a Grecian column, resplendent in billowing, cloudy masses of fabric. Robin saw none of it. She stood quite still, her face as white as her dress.

After a few seconds, Linda spoke again, a slight touch of concern in her voice. "You will let me in, won't you Robin?"

Robin walked over to the door and turned the handle. Her mother stood waiting on the other side, her face expectant, crease lines on her forehead. When she saw her daughter, her face relaxed into a gentle smile.

"You look beautiful, Robin."

Robin could not smile. She felt flat, empty-too hollow even to cry.

Linda pulled her daughter into a hug, and Robin returned it mechanically, staring blankly at the poster of Destiny's Child still hanging on the wall. It felt ghostlike today, unreal, as though she were seeing it through a thick fog. She was suddenly cast back into the distant past, to the months she had spent staring at those same three women on the wall through the same veil of cold numbness, feeling that same disembodied emptiness.

Linda drew back and held Robin at arms length, looking closely at her daughter's pale, drawn face.

"Robin." She said softly. "Are you all right?"

Robin looked at her mother, her worn, concerned face warm and comfortingly familiar. She remembered her mother wearing the same expression when she had been at home after the rape-remembered the way she used to reach out a hand and push a strand of hair over her ear. Her mother's love had always been able to touch her in a place that even the pain could not reach, gently sifting through her weakness, breathing fresh life into her strength.

But she was not that girl anymore. Long gone were the days when her will could be torn from her, when she could be stampeded, trampled down by the cruelty of fate and circumstance. Even as her world was crumbling around her, even as the life she longed for seemed to be slipping inexorably out of her grasp-even as waves of dread were crashing down upon her, she would not let herself be drawn beneath the tide. She hadn't come this far to be finished so easily. She wouldn't go down without a fight.

Robin looked her mother squarely in the face.

"I'm just fine, mum." She said, her voice no longer shaking.

"Are you ready to come down?" Linda asked, still looking worried. "The car's outside, we should be leaving soon."

"I will, just-give me a moment, will you?" Robin said slowly. "I want to-finish something first."

Linda hesitated.

"All right," she replied, her face searching Robin's. It was still pale and strained, but resolute. "I'll be right outside."

She left the room, and Robin closed the door.

Robin walked over to the dresser and took her mobile from the top shelf. Her heart was pounding now as she unlocked it, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened up her recent messages. The name "Corm" shone back at her, displayed prominently at the top. At the sight of it, a painful lump rose in her throat, resting heavily in her chest. She hadn't been able to bring herself to re-open the thread since he had left her house that terrible night-she had averted her eyes, not able to stand the sight of his name in her inbox, not able to cope with the memories that the months worth of messages evoked. Now she stood staring at the last message he had ever sent her, the lump growing ever-more painful in her chest.

 _Sorry I missed you. Call me anytime. I'll be here._

The week they had been estranged had felt longer than any week in her life. It had made Robin realize, more keenly than she ever had felt before, how much she had relied on him-how much the easy flow of their conversation and the stolid comfort of his concern had buoyed her up, keeping her tension and fears at bay. Going on without him, without the ability to call him, to conjure up that matchless mix of quiet contentment and relief that his company always provided her, had left her desolate. More than anything, she wanted to hear his voice on the line again, to hear that same, endlessly familiar gruffness.

Robin pressed _Call_.

The phone began to ring in her hand. She pressed it to her ear, her heart throbbing in her throat now, her mouth gone completely dry. The phone continued to ring. Robin found herself shaking again, gripped with a paralyzing terror of what she may hear, what terrible, final blow could come crashing down on her-but still hoping against hope that he would pick up the phone.

The phone beeped loudly in her ear.

"You have reached Cormoran Strike. I'm not able to pick up the phone at the moment, but if you leave your name and number-"

Robin felt a rushing in her ears as she heard the familiar message, wracked with indecision and apprehension. Her mind was scrambling as the message played itself out, desperate to formulate some coherent message out of her panicked thoughts. She had not planned for this. Now that she had succumbed to this one, last, desperate impulse, she was filled with an enormous urgency to tell Strike everything, to make him understand everything that she felt, to communicate her ineffable sense of loss-but she could not find the words.

"So please leave your message after the tone."

The phone beeped once more.

This could be her last chance.

"Cormoran." Robin began. Her voice was shaking so badly now that she could barely get the words out, but she continued on-she had to keep going. "Cormoran, it's me. Robin."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, endeavouring not to let him down, to live up to the strength of mind she knew he needed of his partner. At least, when he used to need her.

"Cormoran, I know you're angry at me. I know you must wish you'd never known me, that you'd never been stupid enough to take me on. I know you probably wish you'd never have to hear from me again." Robin hesitated, the emotions building painfully in her chest, constricting her voice. "But-but I couldn't let you leave, couldn't let you never hear from me again, without saying-without saying how sorry I am. Not-" Robin continued, speaking quickly now, the colour rising in her cheeks, "Not-that I regret what I did. I know we don't-that we'll never see the same way on this, but I couldn't-I couldn't look away from what was happening to Angel, I couldn't let it continue without...without trying to help. I couldn't see it happen to someone else, and just let it happen, knowing how badly it could crush her. I-you know why."

She paused, fighting back the tears that stung her eyes. "But-I am sorry, because I hurt you. And I've never wanted to hurt you, not after-not after everything we've been through. These past few years-this job, everything-have meant-meant more to me than anything else ever has. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I wouldn't have given that up-wouldn't have let you down-for-for-for anything."

The tears were running thick and fast down her cheeks now, but she had to finish.

"And-whatever happens-whatever you decide- I just wanted you to know that-I-that-"

Robin's breath was coming quick and fast now. She didn't know how to end it-she didn't want to have to finish, to bear the weight of knowing these may be the last words she ever spoke to him.

 _Call me anytime. I'll be here._

"I'll always be here."

Trembling, Robin removed the phone from her ear. She stared down at the green, blinking screen for a few seconds before she slowly hit _End Call_.

"Robin?"

It was Linda again, knocking once more at the door. Robin jumped, fumbling her phone, dropping it quickly down again on the dresser. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, turning around to face her mother just as she opened the door.

"Robin, the car is outside, everyone's waiting. Are you ready now?"

Every one of Robin's nerves had been on fire, her heart still thumping thunderously behind her ribs-but at these words, everything seemed to freeze. The momentary hope and exhilaration she had felt at calling Strike had been suddenly extinguished; the crippling sense of helplessness had fallen upon her once more. Why had she let herself hope? Why had she brought herself up just to fall back down? After all, this was her reality now. Rejection, and loss-and Matthew.

"I'm ready."


End file.
